


Weak Spot

by impalawinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalawinchester/pseuds/impalawinchester
Summary: You’re Dean's weak spot, next to his brother, of course.  Sam teases him about it.  You just make him pancakes.





	Weak Spot

When Dean woke up, music was playing, though indistinct and far away because it was sounding through the cement walls of the bunker. Blasting actually, from what he could tell, from the kitchen, which caused a dull throb in his temple, but he figured coffee would fix that. And you made the best coffee.

So Dean padded through the halls in his dead man’s robe and slippers, the music slowly becoming recognizable as he got closer. It was the your music, its source: the speakers Sam had stolen for you in Lebanon a few days previous after he found you carrying around your phone to play your favorite songs from a less-than-deal sound system. 

In Dean's opinion, your favorite songs were mainly crap: ridiculously happy, half-punk or maybe some pop shit mixed in, which baffled Dean. You had a soft spot for classic rock, like the elder Winchester, but you still adored your “childhood throwbacks.” Nevertheless, if you loved it, he could dig it. You didn’t know how you were becoming a weak spot. Sam teased Dean about you constantly.

But Sam was leaning against the counter quietly looking at his laptop when Dean rounded the corner and as you danced around the kitchen. You swirled a pancake mix through with chocolate chips, pouring out Dean’s coffee and handing it to him before he complained about the music, only asking with nonchalant hope in your voice if he wanted it Irish. 

“I’m good.”

Sam snorted - Dean was so whipped - and you nodded before attempting to disguise your proud smile. You poured the first pancakes onto a square pan – also stolen, but by Dean, because you were a pretty good cook and liked to be in the kitchen when you weren’t on a hunt with the brothers. And Dean wouldn't admit it, but it was nice to be taken care of for a morning, and he liked to see you in front of the stove singing along to your music. It meant that he could imagine that he was living an apple pie life. 

Dean sunk into the moment, rich with the smell of bacon and syrup, full with a comfort you somehow brought their hell of a life, slow and lazy and peaceful for once - when was the last time Dean felt at peace?

And after you’d eaten breakfast, you’d all head out for another hunt out in Massachusetts. You'd be in the backseat for the long drive because you missed the boys when they were gone (you claimed that you got restless at the bunker) even though you couldn't bear to hold a gun. Dean would tap at the steering wheel along with his cassettes, and Sam would research or read or stare out the window to the miles rolling by. 

Every once in a while Dean would glance in the rear view to see you curled up on the seat, faint smile playing at your lips, the soft rustle of pages from whatever books you'd picked out from the library. And every one in a while Dean would smile with you, only the road to see his weakness, because Dean had everything he needed: his baby, you, his brother, and a case on the horizon.

But for the moment, Sam protested when you asked him to dance with you, and Dean went for the bacon you pulled out of the oven – you discovered it eliminated the weird after smell of it – and as he passed you he twirled you just to see that smile again. Lately you weren’t the only one smiling. And lately Dean found himself happy, enjoying the crap music you loved so much and grudgingly dancing around the bunker with you when Sam wasn't around. 

So, yeah, Dean had a weak spot. And he didn’t mind one bit.


End file.
